


In Loving Memory

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: Though the memories of Vin's mother have long since faded to hazy impressions, it always feels like she's alive and sitting right next to him when he reads poetry.





	

Vin got his love of poetry from his mother. She would read to him, even though he might not understand all of it when he was so young. But he remembered the cadence, the rhythm, the rise and fall of her voice. He remembered the way some words were soft as downy rabbit fur, while other words were powerful and rolled like a thunderstorm as it swept across the desert. And when she died, he kept her favorite book of poetry, worn at the edges with love. He couldn’t read it - a fact that rankled at him for years - but he liked visiting with this piece of his mother’s heart. He liked sliding his hands over the wrinkled, stained pages the same way his mother used to do. He liked how, despite the years gone by, it still smelled faintly of his mother - dried rose petals, cinnamon, and lavender.

The memories of his mother faded to only a few precious, hazy, dream-like reminiscences. But the one thing that was always so prominent in Vin’s mind was poetry, the way his mother would read it, the awe and wonder in her voice at the beauty of these words so carefully, artfully composed.

When Vin was alone at his camp fire with his bitter coffee and the stars glittering in the dark skies above, he started to compose poetry, just putting pretty words together sometimes. It made him feel like his mother was there, sitting beside him. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing at first, and the words were halting, fumbled, not nearly as smooth and silky as when they poured from his mother’s lips like water. Eventually, Vin found his rhythm and his voice got stronger as he sent his poetry out into the night and up into the stars where he knew his mother heard every word with a smile on her face.

After Mary had been teaching Vin how to read for a few weeks, he left Four Corners for a day or two and stopped on a slope far away from town. He set up a fire. He poured a cup of coffee for himself, then another cup in memory of his mother. He took out his mother’s book of poetry and settled it against his knees. For the first time since his mother’s death, he heard her voice again as he read the poetry she loved so much.


End file.
